An address found me yesterday, it looked me up
and hung itself on my doorstep. Mad numbers!
Marking familiar, a frame bent and blown inward.
A mahogany rabbit hole with a familiar curve, slicing up
the weight of a longitude, a latitude, seamless arcs binding me to an orbit
I never agreed to— such contracts are made
by sheer place. By being here, by being there, the weight
of bodies falling from the sky, rude raindrops, sinking
into the earth
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